


please come back to me, darling

by Jun_IJIIJI



Series: and the universe in your eyes (KHR Rarepair Week 2018) [6]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Established Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Gore, Post-Canon, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 19:58:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jun_IJIIJI/pseuds/Jun_IJIIJI
Summary: No one took his Cloud away from him. They were about to learn why Reborn was the World's No. 1 Hitman.





	please come back to me, darling

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Nova  
> Edited by Jun  
> ^~^

“Skull?”

 

Reborn stalked through the homey halls of his home, which he shared with his partner, Skull. “If you come out now, I might spare you,” he called out. “Surely both of us are above Hide and Seek?”

 

His eyebrows furrowed when there was no responding giggle. Normally when Skull played games like this, he would shout out or taunt the Sun. Oftentimes this would result in Reborn finding him and Skull getting a bop on the head for his antics. Then, they would sit down to talk and spend some quality time together before preparing for dinner.

 

Their relationship was incredibly domestic, and Reborn wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, it was rare that both he and Skull would have time to spend together, so, no matter how much the other Arcobaleno liked to tease them, Reborn knew that they wouldn’t change their relationship dynamic.

 

However often they spent time away from each other, though, Reborn knew he could always count on Skull to contact him regardless of how pressed for time the other man was. Their schedules were always documented neatly, attached to the fridge by magnets, and Skull had the rest of the week off before he went on tour again.

 

Reborn narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong.

 

He let out a bit of his Sun flames to saturate the air before pulling back. There was Cloud, Skull’s flames, and he could taste the anger in them. And, although faint and well hidden, he could sense the Mist flames, floating about like amoeba in a pond.

 

On instinct, his Sun flames lash out, and the illusion disappears from the house. Now, he can see the destruction inflicted, from the holes in the walls to the drops of dried blood, to the slashes on the carpet and couch.

 

A fleeting darkness passes through his eyes, and Reborn dips his fedora to hide them. Someone was about to find out why he was given the title of the World’s Number 1 Hitman.

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

Darkness. All it can see is darkness.

 

~~_ he’sforgettingsomethingforgettingsomethingwhoamiwhoareyouhelphelphelpmerememberplease _ ~~

 

Ah, where is it? It’s hard to see in the darkness, you must understand. It’s afraid it’s quite helpless. 

 

~~_ emptyemptywhycantheseehearthinkfeelsmelltastesayanything? _ ~~

 

Something purple flickers. Perhaps that’s a clue to who it is? Thinking is hard in the darkness, when darkness is as swampy and hard to navigate as this. It’s a little too easy to give up and give in, but the flash of startled purple means there’s some sort of answer to its confusion. It moves forward.

 

~~_ closerclosercloseritswarmitshimitsmeitsus _ ~~

 

An amethyst of fire. Large, a black hole, needing space, air, life to sustain. It is destruction, but it creates things too. Duplicates. Enlarges. Gives what it takes. Is that it?

 

It reaches out as if it will hold an answer, but it is yanked away from it, like a panicked prey running from its predator.

 

But it is okay. The prey is bleeding, the predator smells blood, can taste it on its nonexistent tongue. The tantalizing sample of what is to come fuels him.

 

~~_ ahintofyellowdarkeyesdarkersmilehitstotheheadplayinggameswithfriendsgentleteasingitsallthere _ ~~

 

It (he?) gives chase.

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

The blood is somewhat recent. A few hours ago, if Reborn is to assume, and it is not all Skull’s. He collects samples and brings it to his student, Tsuna, for testing. “Find the person, and make it quick,” he says, and offers no explanation. Tsuna shrugs and hands it off to the labs as Reborn inclines on an office chair, thinking.

 

The crime happened a few hours ago, which is bad. A trained mafioso can do plenty of things in a few hours, from disposing a body to making off with a captive, both of which are easy enough with Mist flames. The slashes obviously mean Skull fought back, but was overwhelmed, most likely due to illusions. Anger in Skull’s flames indicate that he saw someone close to him being hurt, one of the few things that can truly set off the Cloud, and Reborn grimaces. Mist flames are a pain, especially the good Mist users.

 

“We have the results,” a scientist says not ten minutes later, “and we have narrowed down the subject to a man named Stefano Rapitore of the Estraneo famiglia. Here is all we have collected on him, sir.”

 

Reborn takes the file, says thank you, and starts reading. Stefano is a criminal, even by mafia standards. Simply being part of a dirty famiglia such as Estraneo, or whatever remains of it, could brand you a prime candidate for Vendicare. A scientist, judging by the lab coat, and Reborn’s grip on the papers tighten slightly. The idea of any scientist experimenting on his Cloud is enough to warrant a permanent stay in Vendicare. Death would be too easy.

 

He takes a good look at the face of his new target. An average face, he observes, with a sort of countenance that people wouldn’t suspect of hiding a mad scientist. He has mousy brown hair and a scraggly beard and glasses that glint in the light. The man is at least forty, judging by the wrinkles, and a madman, judging by the bloodstains on his coat.

 

Once Reborn is done, he crumples up the file and tosses it into the trash, seething with a well hidden rage. “Call the Vindice,” he tells Tsuna. “There is a criminal that they haven’t caught yet, and I will hunt them down myself.” 

 

He doesn’t stay long enough to see the Vindice arrive. The moment the last word leaves his mouth, Reborn is off.

 

There is a person that has wronged him, and Reborn is the world’s apex predator. Hunting them down would be easy.

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

He’s not free. He used to be though.

 

~~_ trappedtrappedtrappedheneedsfreedomheneedstobefreeheneedstokillkillkillkillkillkillthecaptor _ ~~

 

The shining amethyst bleeds some more, and he regains some semblance of memory. He remembers what light feels like, what sounds and words and phrases are. He recalls touch and emotions, what happiness and sadness and texture is, can connect scents and tastes to nouns. Wires spark and electricity crackles back and forth, trying to find what he lost. What he is missing.

 

~~_ listentomelistentomeiamyouyourviceyoursinsandimtellingyoutokillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill _ ~~

 

Freedom. He is missing freedom, and suddenly darkness is not cutting it anymore. It is not warm, nor is it swampy. Now, it is cold, and he twitches, regains some feeling in lost limbs. He gets blood flowing, red traveling through veins and arteries and capillaries and he explodes in purple.

 

_ Die. _

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

It doesn’t take a day for Reborn to track down his target. For a Mist user, his prey really isn’t that great at covering his tracks, and he tracks down Rapitore to an abandoned warehouse in the dirtied streets of the Milan slums. Reborn snorts at the choice of building.

 

A rats’ nest for a nesting rat. Appropriate.

 

The inside is painted blood red. Reborn doesn’t mourn for the dead laying on the ground, nor does he pray for their souls. He leaves them in their festering disease and wonders how Vongola will take care of the bodies. Rooms upon rooms of dead subjects lay, some still hooked up to machines, others still strapped to tables, their guts laid for all to see. Faces are twisted into poems of pain and suffering, into elegies of resignation and desperation.

 

Reborn is not a religious man. He leaves the bodies to their death and hunts down the wolf in charge of the slaughter.

 

( _ Repent, repent, repent!  _ the souls of the dead scream.  _ For the lives you have stolen, the blood you have shed, the tears you have caused! Repent, repent, repent! _ )

 

The final room he enters is awash in purple fire, and Reborn’s breath hitches. There is Skull, who is cute on a good day but only beautiful when he is dangerous, and he levels Reborn with an empty look. Violet eyes, once lit with a lantern of stars, are now home to billions and trillions and quadrillions of dead white dwarves. At his feet is Stefano Rapitore, who is blown up like a balloon. Is he dead? Reborn toes the body with the bloody soles of his previously pristine shoes, and grins at the pained groan he receives in response.

 

“Come on,” he says to Skull. “It’s time to go home.”

 

Skull doesn’t respond, not in the way Reborn would like him to. Instead, the Cloud only stares, and his mouth opens, as if to speak. Except only blood comes out, trailing red from the corners down the chin and dripping down the the floor, increasing in amount by the second until Skull is choking on crimson water.

 

Reborn rushes to his partner’s side, hands alight in gold. Sun flames worm their way into Clouds, creating silver linings while Reborn searches for what is wrong with Skull. He curses Rapitore’s name when he finds the cause of the problem: blood, propagating itself at dangerous levels. At this point, what Skull will die by is choking, not blood loss, because his Flames are multiplying the blood faster than he can get rid of it.

 

Sun flames are useless in situations like this. Instead, Reborn, remorseless in trying to make sure his partner stays alive, cuts shallow slashes in Skull’s arms and legs. Blood pours out, and Reborn does not bandage the wounds, instead letting the excess blood drain out.

 

(This probably is one of the worst ways you can go about fixing the problem, he thinks.

 

Who cares? As long as Skull stays alive, he is happy.)

 

Five minutes later, there is the Vongola, cleaning up bodies. Some hold their noses while the weaker of the bunch look green in the face. Vindice pick up the unconscious body of Rapitore and Reborn gets vindictive pleasure when Bermuda says, “A lifetime in Vendicare.” Skull is picked up in an ambulance, driven by mafia men he doesn’t recognize, and he follows in, intent on making sure his partner stays alive.

 

They have dinner to go home to, after all.

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

He doesn’t know who he is, where he is. Everything is white but he feels alive, even though there are gashes across his thighs and arms. Shallow cuts, but they bleed at a steadier rate than they ought to bleed. He doesn’t mind. The pain lets him feel alive, and he feels better than ever, even though he knows that logically, he should be woozy from blood loss.

 

A man in the corner stirs, and he blinks at him, curious. Maybe he knows who he is?

 

The man looks at him with a dark stare that feels too comforting than it should be. “How do you feel?” he asks.

 

“Fine,” he responds. “Who are you?”

 

For a moment, he sees something heartbroken in the man’s expression, except it’s soon hidden away by an excellent poker face. “My name is Reborn,” the man responds smoothly. “Do you remember who you are?”

 

“No,” he replies easily. “Do you?” Vaguely, he thinks he should be more panicked about this, but the world feels serene from his place on the bed.

 

Reborn sighs. “Your name is Skull, Skull de Mort. You are a stunt rider.”

 

Skull hums, feeling the facts settle down, simering just beneath the skin. That feels right. “Skull de Mort,” he laughs, easygoing as ever. “That’s me!”

 

“Right,” Reborn says with a pained look. “I’ll let the doctor explain the rest.”

 

He nods, says, “Okay! Come back soon!” and waves Reborn a good-bye, wondering who the man was to him. Someone close to him, maybe a friend?

 

Something in his heart pulls, and he places a hand over his chest.

 

A lover, perhaps?

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

“Amnesia,” Reborn says, head in his hand. “He has amnesia.”

 

Colonello pats him on the shoulder. “Must be hard,” the blond says, completely earnest in his words. “I’d be handling it a lot worse if Lal had amnesia.”

 

Verde frowns at the information the doctor had supplied. “Are you sure the amnesia isn’t just a side effect of his flames?” the scientist asks. “The doctor said that when Skull was found, his flames were sealed.”

 

Reborn tosses a carefully disguised interested look Verde’s way. “Explain,” he demands.

 

The green-haired man looks unamused but complies nonetheless. “Well, Skull has always had very powerful Dying Will Flames. Apparently he’s had them since he was a bay, which is dangerous in many cases, since the mind, weak as it is at that stage, grows reliant on the flames. For weaker flame users, they might suffer from long-term memory loss after they use their flames since their episodic memories are usually stored in the flames while semantic memory is stored in the brain. It’s a very rare phenomenon, since you’d have to be less than two years old to grow such dependency. For people with cases such as these, sealing their flames away would be like sealing their memories away, resulting in severe retrograde amnesia.”

 

The trio of men sit in silence, processing this. “Are you saying we have to break the seal for Skull to regain his memories?” Reborn finally asks, contemplative.

 

Verde nods. “Yes. Do you still have your Dying Will Bullets?”

 

“Of course. Leon produces them, after all,” Reborn responds, loading a gun with a Dying will Bullet.

 

Colonello shoots him a thumbs up. “Good luck,” he says.

 

Reborn rolls his eyes. “I won’t need it,” he shoots back, moving towards Skull’s hospital room. 

 

This had better work.

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

Reborn comes in with a loaded gun. Skull is not panicked, not until Reborn points the gun at him.

 

“Have you come to kill me?” Skull asks, genuinely curious even though he’s sweating bullets (ha, bullets). “I’m sorry then, for whatever I’ve done to you.”

 

The other man does not respond. Instead, he pulls the trigger, andㅡ 

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

_ yourememberyourememberyouremember _

 

The world behind your eyelids is purple, purple, purple, and memories return at the speed of thought. Thoughts blend and blur and your brain can’t process a thing, but it can process everything, too, all at once. Living, dying, and coming back alive, the people you’ve met, the battles you’ve been in, your relationship with Reborn…

 

It’s all there. It’s coming back.

 

_ yourememberyourememberyourememberyourefree _

 

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

 

When Skull opens his eyes again, galaxies unfold and the cosmos comes alive. Reborn pulls the other man into a hug, punches him in the shoulder. “Don’t do that to me ever again, lackey,” the hitman says, unamused.

 

“Of course, Reborn-senpai!” Skull responds, cheeky as ever. “Can you sneak food in here for me? Hospital food sucks.”

 

Reborn snorts. “Dinner’s on you, then.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure! I missed you so much!”

 

It’s mumbled, but it’s still there. “I missed you too, Skull.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel kind of bad for Jun This was finished really late, so he stayed up editing this for me. What a sweetheart.  
> (He also got his hair dyed blood red. I am envious.)  
> Uh, I hope you enjoyed this! Sucky ending, I know. I was... uninspired, to say the least. And very tired. It's also a bit darker (and shorter) than my previous ones, but, hey, I play these prompts straight (because I have no creativity whatsoever) and I also don't know how to not make a kidnapping thing not dark, sorry.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~Nova


End file.
